


Valdrós

by betaadamantium



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men Origins: Wolverine (2009)
Genre: Bloodplay, F/M, Friends of Humanity, Het, POV Alternating, Rape/Non-con References, a whole shitload of sex and violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-15
Updated: 2012-03-26
Packaged: 2017-10-31 05:42:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/340560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betaadamantium/pseuds/betaadamantium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What should have been a routine retrieval contract becomes something Victor Creed never saw coming. Why are the Friends of Humanity out for his blood?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic occupies some weird movieverse AU. Let's just pretend that the Sabretooth that showed up in the first X-Men movie was actually played by Liev Schreiber (I'm sure we'd all prefer it that way, anyway), and as loathsome as X-Men Origins: Wolverine was, I really thought Liev did an excellent job as Victor Creed. Origins will be canon up to Logan leaving the team; from there this fic diverges. 
> 
> This is not a fic that makes Creed into a good, decent person. He is an unrepentant killer.
> 
> Valdrós is a word in Old Norse meaning "of the slaughter-woman" or "lady of the slain" and was also a word that was used in place of Valkyrie, the female warriors who bore the battle-slain to Valhalla.

Usually I don't take a job unless it means at least a little blood and screaming, but I guess the shitty economy was making people more nervous than normal. I'm known in the blacker parts of the world for my ability to get any job done, no matter the physical cost, so long as the price is right. I prefer the ones that involve pain and death, not just because I'm fucking fantastic at it, but because I love it. It appeals to the part of me that's more wild animal than human, and it's what I was born for: I'm a mutant, _homo sapiens superior_ , with particular talents that -- while not entirely unique -- make me valuable.

So while it wasn't what I usually choose, it was a job that paid well and it meant that I got to hunt.

I'd started tracking her three states back, crossing the border into Canada just last night. What was supposed to be an easy paycheck was turning into more of a challenge than I'd expected but it made me excited instead of angry. At first I thought she'd slipped by me a couple times, managed to find a bit of dumb luck, but by the fourth time it was plain that something else was at work. I knew she wasn't entirely human, either, but I hadn't been told what her mutation was, and at any rate she was wearing a power inhibitor.

Her scent wasn't reliable, either, it didn't linger long enough for me to stay consistently on her trail. She seemed to stick to places where it blended in, too, and what I'd originally thought was just the environment -- cedar and pine -- became easier to separate when I found that she also carried the scent of death on her. Not rot or blood but things that reminded me of graveyards, of wet earth and damp stone, salty tears and grief.

She was more than competent and she knew she was being stalked. She wasn't like most women who'd crane their head around in an obvious show of alertness; that kind of behavior only made _everyone_ notice them, defeating the purpose of staying under the radar. No, this one had an awareness, a sort of sixth sense and a subtlety of body language that so few know how to read anymore: tense shoulders, a cocked head, her weight balanced on the balls of her feet for a quick escape. She kept her duffel at her feet or on her shoulder and it didn't seem to contain much, likely just clothes and essentials. She traveled like I do, unburdened by unnecessary crap.

On the sixth day I eased back some, now sure I wasn't going to lose her as she moved steadily NNE. I had a copy of her file and knew that she had friends in Alaska, ones who'd take her in. That same file gave her basic stats but no given name, just her codename: Rook was 5'9", 160 lbs with grey eyes and black hair. Her photo showed an expressionless face unobscured by her bound back hair, clean of makeup or other feminine affectations.

It was on the eighth day that she made a mistake. She'd been hitching rides with truckers before disappearing for a while but this time, after thanking her latest ride, she made a beeline for the payphone across the lot. She punched in numbers from a phonecard, and whoever she was calling must have picked up because she erupted in a rush of words in a flat, measured language that sounded Native American before she switched to angry Russian.

Even from across the parking lot I could hear her despair, smell her tears of frustration as she begged for help. The combination was potent enough that I had to reach down and adjust the front of my jeans.

The contract said nothing about fucking her. Of course, it said nothing about _not_ fucking her, either, though I'd have to curb my usual appetites. They wanted her back whole and conscious and relatively mentally stable.

She stayed on the phone a few minutes longer, quieting some while still speaking Russian. After a pause she switched, this time to accented English.

"There is nothing to be done, then." Her voice was rough, a little deeper than normal for most women, a dark contralto that made me think of mid-1900s movie stars with voices gone husky from smoking. "I don't think I will make it there, Ben. Every town their man gets closer and I have not yet made it halfway through the Northwest Territory."

I stalked closer, letting her inattentiveness distract her. Within 10 feet, out of her line of vision, I could hear the man on the other end of the line.

"Why are they after you?" he asked.

"You know why. Will you--"

"I'll tell her."

With her arm braced on top of the payphone, she bent and pressed her forehead against her sleeve. "I love you, little one." She hung up without a reply.

I watched her jerk to awareness when I let my boot scuff across the asphalt.

"Ain't that sweet," I drawled.

Up close, even in the dark, I could see that her file photo didn't do justice to her eyes. They were palest grey, silver as the moon with a ring of smoke around the irises. She narrowed them at me, her full lips drawing back in a snarl worthy of any feral and making her even more attractive by giving her face emotion.

"Should I thank you for allowing that?" she asked, tipping her head towards the phone. "No matter," she continued, "if all you intend to do is kill me."

I smirked. "Oh, sweetheart, this ain't a kill order." Comprehension dawned on her face and I watched as her eyes went entirely white like one blind, her pupils now just a faint spot I could barely see in the dimly-lit lot.

She took advantage of my split second of distraction by hitting me, the heel of her open hand taking me in the chin so that my head snapped back, but if I expected her to pull back a broken hand, I got another surprise. Stryker may not have been willing to give me adamantium but I'd run into others of similar persuasions, interested in creating weapons of a sort, and now even my talons are coated in the unbreakable metal. The blow she dealt me should have hurt her, should have gotten more than a grunt of pain from her in response.

I narrowed my eyes and snarled at her, reaching out to intercept the second punch she tried to get in; I used her momentum to pull her off balance, making her stumble when she didn't connect and bringing her arm up behind her in a lock that held it at an awkward, painful angle. If she moved or tried to pull away, she'd break her own arm, and I heard her breathe out, hard, shifting to keep pressure off the fragile elbow joint.

Something like electricity sparked from her bare hand in mine, I felt it shoot up through my arm straight to my heart, making it stutter, but the sensation stopped quickly and just left me a little short of breath. She went limp and I heard her breath come a little faster and heavier.

"C'mon, it's gonna be a long drive b--"

The crack of a gunshot whipped my head around, eyes tracking its starting point even as I automatically pulled her close to shield her with my body, the bullet smacking into the plastic housing of the payphone. The second one jerked my head forward, hitting my adamantium-coated skull from the back; I felt it hit and flatten out, stars bursting in my vision for a moment while my ears rang from the impact. I had to shake my head, a sudden, sharp movement that made my vision swim.

Rook tried to pull away but I snatched her back, reflexively extended my claws until they bit into her shoulder and I smelled blood, I couldn't not notice it. I didn't have time to think about that because now there was a second shooter working with the first, firing in tandem. Handguns of some kind, 9mms from the sound they made.

"I take it they aren't with you?" she asked sarcastically.

I ignored that. "You wanna die here?"

"I'd rather take my chances with them than live like a chained animal," she shot back fiercely. "If it's all the same to you."

 _Fuck._ In all my years, in all the contracts I've taken, there'd never been a hitch like this and it pissed me off. Even more it pissed me off that I had no clue who these fuckheads were, nor did I know if they were after me or her. I hadn't gone over the deadline on the contract and the ones who'd called me weren't known for double booking.

Well, I didn't get paid if we both bought the farm.

The gunmen had stopped shooting but it took me a moment to adjust to the sudden silence so I could hear again.

"They're reloading," I told her, my voice pitched low. "We can get around back, my truck's there."

She opened her mouth to snap at me again. I gripped her jaw with one big hand, applying enough pressure to make her blink but not enough to crush.

"I could kill you, sweetheart, just as easily, but it wouldn't be quick." I let my talons lengthen to press against her cheek, dimpling her skin without piercing. "I'd do just enough damage to put you down so I could waste those two assholes, but then I'd come back and finish things with you. Lady's choice."

The expected fear was in her eyes, now gone back to their original color, but I saw anger and defiance as well. This one was no shrinking violet, not the type to remain idle when her life was on the line. Only one or two women I'd met in my long life have been anything but weak, a waste of space and, contrary to what most who know me might think, I can appreciate a strong woman. They last longer.

She breathed out. "Fine." When I let her go she worked her jaw, rubbing at it with one hand. Around her wrist I saw a slim bracelet, as familiar to me as the metal on my bones: the inhibitor they'd fitted her with, one she hadn't managed to remove since she'd gotten away from her handlers. I haven't run into many mutants who can still use even a small portion of their power shackled with one of those things. Either she was very strong or she'd been wearing it so long that her body had adjusted to it.

I knew, because I've worn one. And like any good cat I'd tried to find a way around it. Even the painful shocks they usually deliver as punishment hadn't been enough to discourage me; it wasn't like I can't take it, and I'm twisted enough that pain isn't a wise deterrent. Still, I'd hated it, because it had controlled me.

The sight of it made me growl low in my throat even as I grabbed the wrist it encircled, pulling her along around the side of the building. I could hear the shooters talking to each other in voices that, for them, were quiet, and I wasn't surprised to hear a reply from behind the building where my truck was. For the first time I cursed that the damn thing didn't have automatic locks or we both could have made a run for it, I knew I at least could survive a few bullets.

I pulled the keys from my pocket. "Can you drive a stick?"

"Yeah," she replied, palming the keys so they wouldn't jingle. "What will you be doing?"

"Just run when I tell ya." Using the shadows I leaned out and got a look around back, saw two more gunmen. Who the fuck _were_ these jackasses? They looked paramilitary, garbed in dark colors that blended with the night, body armor a distinct bulk beneath their clothes but I couldn't see any kind of insignia or identifying marks that might tell me who they were or where they came from. The kind of circles I run in means I know pretty much all of the black ops groups, all the independent contractors at least by name.

I didn't hear the two from up front coming any closer, having been told to stay put in case they were needed.

Rustling behind me made me look back to find Rook had pulled the strap of her small bag crosswise over her body so that both hands were free. She was watching me intently even as she still seemed to be just as aware of everything around us as I was.

I took a breath, settled myself, and then said, "Go."

I didn't bother to make sure she was headed towards the truck, her boots scraping on the asphalt as she took off. I used the moment of inaction on the parts of the gunmen to launch myself in their direction, covering the ground in two ground-eating leaps, the third of which took me straight into a diving tackle with one of them. He let loose with a burst of fire from his boxy little sub-machinegun, a P-90, spraying me with bullets in the instant before he went down screaming. With one swipe I took out his throat, barely pausing to shake blood and gore from my hand before turning on the other man.

The second shooter had put distance between us and managed to aim at Rook, too, though I could hear the roar of the old truck's engine being thrown into gear. I took a few more bullets as I closed that distance, my next leap evaded so that I fetched up against the side of the truck, my heavy body making the shocks protest and pushing the vehicle back a few feet; I smelled burnt rubber, gunpowder, and blood.

By the time I was back on my feet the shooter had circled up around towards the driver's side, only to be met with a boot in the face from Rook. Bullets pinged off the pavement and ricocheted wildly where they found purchase, some unfortunately ending up in my hide and adding to the holes already peppering my long coat. There were frangibles mixed in with regular bullets and I could feel them breaking apart inside me, causing damage faster than my healing factor could take care of. I might not be bleeding out, but I was bleeding internally; I'd have to get somewhere safe, and soon.

I must have been losing time because I found myself being dragged into my own truck and propped up in the seat against the passenger side door. Rook shoved her bag in, on top of mine between us, before slamming the door and gunning the engine. I realized I could smell her blood, too, more than before.

"I took a few grazes," she said when I mentioned it. "Less than you, at any rate, and it will not kill me." Still, when she wasn't shifting gears, she was holding her arm against her side. "But you're not dead."

"Heh." The short laugh nearly made me groan at the pain it caused. "What makes ya think I won't be?"

"You took at least one to the head," she replied, tilting her head towards me but keeping her eyes on the road. "If that did not kill you, the rest won't, either. At least not in the next 10 minutes, I assume?"

I meant to ask her what she meant except I blinked and found her hauling me out of the truck again, this time heading for a motel room door. I shook my head, not liking the way things went blurry; I knew I hadn't taken enough damage to feel this fucked up, at least not yet. There wasn't much I could do but let her guide me inside, leaning against the wall before she maneuvered me into the bathroom.

"Fuck," I hissed when the bright lights hit my eyes, which in turn made me lose my balance and nearly crack my head on the edge of the bathtub. "Somethin' isn't right."

"No shit?" she said under her breath, then louder, "You have a healing factor." She eased me down on the floor so I sat with my back against a wall. "Does it usually have this much trouble with bullets?" she continued without letting me answer.

I hissed as her fingers probed along my torso. "Not really. They were usin' frangibles, which take me longer to expel and heal, but this is different." I could barely catch my breath and I realized I was beginning to shiver.

With only minimal cursing on my part we got my coat off, my shirt damaged enough that I didn't stop her when she pulled a knife from her boot and used it to cut up the front of the black cotton. My chest was a mass of bruising and blood beneath dark blond hair, a few puckered bullet holes, something I hadn't seen in longer than I could remember -- at least not on my own body.

Her hands were cool against my skin, almost chilled, but they felt good and I wondered if I was feverish. I couldn't remember ever having felt sick, not even as a kid and never like my little brother Jimmy had been; I figured we'd both been born with our mutations intact by it seemed like mine had kicked in earlier. I wondered sometimes if it had been my body's reaction to being beaten, to having my claws and my fangs torn out with pliers because my father couldn't stand looking at his "devil" of a son.

"I think I know what the problem is," she said, pulling me out of the past. She sat back on her heels as she reached into one of her pockets, pulling out a small object: a bullet sat in the palm of her hand, one with an odd shimmery quality, and though it had been spent it was still perfectly shaped. "These were mixed in with the frangibles, they are designed to negate the healing factor."

I picked it up, bringing it close to my nose. "Ugh!" It smelled terrible, almost sickly. "What the fuck is that?"

"Carbonadium." She plucked it from my fingers and put it back in her pocket. "Close kin to the adamantium that coats your skeleton."

I squinted at her, feeling suspicious. "How is it you know so much about healing factors and adamantium?"

She looked at me, those eerie eyes meeting mine steadily and I could easily see that she was deciding how much to tell me. "The people who sent you to retrieve me are not so different from the people who originally made use of adamantium," she said finally, "using mutants as lab rats, testing their powers and looking for ways to make weapons. The Russians wanted their own super-soldier after the fashion of Captains America and Britain, and in the process they synthesized a new element.

"A mutant with a healing factor, one Arkady Rossovich, was chosen to be the recipient of this great honor and given retractable tentacles of carbonadium with which he could use his other mutant ability, that of draining life forces."

It didn't surprise me that other governments had done similar things to the Weapon X project. Humans never tire of playing with us, of subjugating 'lesser' beings, whether it be other humans with different skin colors, different sexual orientations, or different religions; mutants just had the added benefit of being possibly dangerous, I was one of them and I'd worked with others like me, so I couldn't blame humans for wanting to harness that power. It was a numbers game.

Rook shoved her hands in her pockets. "It was discovered that the carbonadium was poisoning Rossovich," she continued. "Of course, more experiments were done, more mutants with healing factors pulled in for testing. The last I had heard, though, the technology for creating the metal was stolen and then lost, nor was it possible to replicate it in the first place. Someone has found it again."

I cleared my throat, the reflex turning into a racking cough that made pain spike through my entire body. With each passing minute I felt more and more like I might actually die, something I hadn't had to worry about in far too long.

"So I've got this shit in me, and it's gonna kill me before I can heal it." It wasn't a question so much as a statement.

"Just so." She held up her knife, a slim, wicked little stiletto. "I can cut them out. Lucky for you the metal is too strong to shatter so I will not be chasing pieces around, it is just a matter of locating the bullets and digging them out."

"Easy as that, huh?" My immediate, animal instinct was to snarl, to lash out and hurt her. What she proposed, what she was offering to do, put me in a life-threatening position; as weak as I was, I wasn't positive I could kill her before she did major damage and finished me off, and she had every reason to want me dead or incapacitated. But without her I might die anyway, bleeding out while fishing around inside my own body to remove the poisonous metal.

I lifted my eyes to her, held hers for a moment. She was back to emotionless, her gaze calm.

"Do it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, uh, if you're unfamiliar with Arkady Rossovich, he's Omega Red in the comics. That's where I've taken his bio from. He's a nasty, violent asshole, pretty much like Vic.


	2. Chapter 2

I've dealt with more than my share of blood but by the time I was finished with my makeshift operation I felt queasy. My 'patient' had been eerily silent through most of the procedure, only hissing or snarling every so often when I had to dig my fingers into the wounds; some of the bullets had gone very deep and I lost my grip on them, gone slippery with blood, pushing them even deeper before I could pull them out. He hadn't moved much even then.

The whole time I was doing that, I was cursing myself. This was the man who had been sent to capture me, to bind me and bring me back to the monsters I'd finally escaped from, the savages who wanted to exploit my rare talents for their own purposes. I knew that he'd been manipulated, too, so I couldn't understand why he'd want anything to do with such people. I've known men like him, countless of them, but only a few who have ever allowed themselves to be used.

With my would-be captor now passed out in the tub, finally succumbing to the sleep his body required for his healing factor to work at full power, I washed up and looked after my own wounds.

As I'd told him, I'd been grazed by several of the bullets, two along my torso and one on my left bicep, below where his claws had dug in. My dark clothing had hidden the pale blood trickling from the wounds, an almost watery substance I'd grown used to seeing often as of late; as I didn't have to worry about infection I merely cleaned them. I hadn't really had time to reflect on the rather automatic way he'd pulled me back towards him and into the shelter of his body when the shooting had started, as if he were afraid I'd be hurt.

It was the damage to my ribcage that concerned me, having taken two quick rabbit punches just under my right arm, an ache spreading from them to the rest of my body. It hurt to breathe too deeply. For those I wrapped my torso as tightly as I could without restricting my movement, though it wasn't as tight as I wanted since I had to do it on my own.

In taking off my jacket and overshirt I was presented yet again with the object keeping me from removing all evidence of injury: the inhibitor bracelet. Slowly I'd acclimated to it, to its specific frequency, but I'd used my powers too often of late and in the process weakened myself. Unless I could find a way to remove the damned thing, I would heal nearly human-slow.

"Unacceptable," I muttered, dampening a washcloth to clean my face. The harsh bathroom light made my pale skin look sallow, the fine bones of my face thrown into stark relief as if I had some terrible wasting disease; I hissed as I dabbed at a cut bisecting my right eyebrow, evidence of the blow I'd taken when the last gunman hit me with the stock of his weapon. Why do those tiny cuts always seem to hurt the most?

I dipped up water in my hands, using some to smooth my hair back, especially the perpetual little cowlicks at my temples that never wanted to behave. The water tasted of metal, likely from a well this far from civilization, and if I concentrated I could taste the earth in it, too.

Behind me, my hunter groaned and shifted but didn't wake up. I knew that the metal in his bones was already a tax on his healing factor, so that the damage he'd taken might take a few hours more to heal than without the adamantium upgrade; with the carbonadium it would be at least a day before his body finished expelling the fragments I hadn't been able to pull out. Even now I could see a piece working its way out, leaving barely even a trickle of blood as if his system had no more to spare.

With a sigh I rinsed the washcloth and brought it with me as I sat on the edge of the tub, reaching out tentatively to begin cleaning the blood from his torso. Before, when I'd been concentrating on his wounds, I hadn't paid much attention to his musculature except to see it as a barrier, an obstacle to get past in order to get the bullets out. Now, with him unconscious and immobile, with just the blood, I couldn't deny that he was powerfully built, just the kind of man I usually find myself gravitating to. He was bulky, with the kind of body that comes from work rather than any kind of exercise regimen, and he seemed the type to think that lifting weights was a waste of time; what he _did_ spend his time doing, though, I couldn't guess.

He was attractive in a rough sort of way, sporting muttonchops that didn't quite go with his short hair but managed to work for him. The only other part of him I had a clear view of was his hands and I couldn't stop myself from lifting one to examine the deadly talons on the end of his long fingers. They were retracted at the moment, just the tips visible, though I'd seen them extended to a couple inches earlier that night.

My mind wandered, brought me to a memory of another man with a similar build, even a similar mutation. He and I had worked together, securing the targets our handlers wanted, at least until he'd been pulled off duty for a reason I hadn't been clear on until I'd been called in to keep him alive. I'd refused to get involved with any of my fellow agents, let alone any of the captives, but something about him had made me wish we'd met under better circumstances. He'd been involved very intensely with the carbonadium testing, I remembered how sick it had made him, how wasted and gaunt he'd become, and how he'd begged me to kill him.

My breath caught, something like a sob threatening to break free before I choked it down. It had been years since I'd thought of him, and as usual, I wondered if he was still alive out there somewhere; even at his lowest point I'd seen his will to survive. Maybe he'd gotten away, maybe he'd found something resembling a good life. For all he'd been through and all I'd done to him, I wished that for him.

I forced myself to shove that away again, just as I forced myself to look at my 'patient' as nothing more than a means to an end. He represented my best chance at getting the device to remove my inhibitor, of helping me regain my life, such as it was.

Shifting, I leaned him forward as far as I could hold him so that I could get at his back. The wounds there didn't seem to be as grievous, his long black coat apparently having saved him from further damage. He had another wound on the back of his head that I hadn't seen earlier, from the first or second bullet, but that was more or less just dried blood.

"I suppose there is something to be said for having a thick skull," I said under my breath, getting the rest of the mess out of his hair as best I could.

"What's that?" The question came along with a large hand wrapped around my wrist, the words slurred and thick.

"Nothing." I sat up and pulled my arm away. "Just talking to myself." I tossed the now-ruined washcloth towards the trash. "I am surprised you are awake."

"Wish I wasn't," he replied through clenched teeth. His head thudded back against the tiled wall, eyes shut tight. "Fuck, this is hell."

I regarded him carefully. "How much are they paying you for me?"

One bleary, bloodshot eye opened, and even in that I could see sarcastic humor. "Sure you wanna know?" He cleared his throat, setting off a coughing fit before he spoke again. "Enough to show how desperate they are to get you back. Apparently enough to send someone else in."

My mind shot back to the events earlier that night. "They were not there for me," I said, putting pieces together without telling him everything I knew. "I was incidental, little more than a nuisance until I joined the fight and got you out." I didn't tell him I'd pulled a patch off the one he'd killed, the insignia vaguely familiar.

He shifted, bending one knee up to drape his arm over it. It seemed a calculated show at nonchalance. "Funny, that. Coulda just left me." Both eyes were open now, a strange amber-brown and very intent on me. I felt myself being considered, weighed.

"Coulda killed me here, too. Got a soft spot for bad boys?" His sneer showed both fangs to best effect; despite that, his color was still poor, his breathing shallow and forced. He hid it well but I know the signs of illness and can read body language well enough to know he wasn't used to feeling like this, used to being weak and at the relative mercy of anyone else. When one had such powerful gift it was terrifying to be brought so low.

"No, but men who are as weak as kittens get me hot." My retort earned me a snarl that wasn't entirely angry. I sensed he was intrigued by me though I couldn't figure out why. "I'm amazed I can keep my hands to myself."

He huffed at me. "That why you were cleaning me, frail?"

 _Frail?_ I thought. _What the hell does that mean?_

With speed he likely couldn't spare he reached for me again, this time wrapping fingers around my upper arm so he could pull me closer, his gaze going to the puncture wounds he'd left on my shoulder and the bullet grazes bared by my tanktop. I heard him inhale and had to keep a shocked sound in when he leaned in the last few inches and dragged his tongue over the wounds. "You heal quick, too," he said, running that tongue just behind his teeth. "Your blood tastes weird."

When he felt my arm flex in preparation to pull away his hand tightened on me. "Afraid?"

"Annoyed." And turned on, I couldn't lie to myself about my body's reaction to him, but there was no reason I had to acknowledge it or give in to it. I've existed long enough to know that my particular predilections aren't anything close to normal, I just needed to remind myself that he was a stepping stone. "And smart enough to know that, right now, there isn't much you can do to me."

"Heh." His thumb brushed over his marks and then he let me go. "Still, you got a reason. One I can't put a finger on, at least not without-- ah!" His head whipped back, uncontrolled this time with enough force to crack the tile, the rest of his body seizing up.

I reached out to him, my motion reversed when he lashed out with claws where I'd been sitting a moment before, a roar erupting from his throat that sounded halfway insane with agony and rage. Even as I rolled backwards away from him, my shoulder hitting the floor hard, I had to kick out when I found him leaping at me out of the tub. Though I'm smaller and more agile I was still weak, too, and he was significantly stronger and larger regardless; I ended up facedown against the cold, dingy vinyl floor, my ribs cracking worse with his weight on my back.

My cry of pain was cut off by one massive hand wrapping around my neck, cutting off my air. He snarled at me, his breath ruffling the hair by my ear as he sniffed at me. As painful as it was I tried to win free only to find talons digging in at my neck and my side, though blessedly it was the side opposite my now-broken ribs.

He let go of my neck only to press down on the back of it so I had to turn my head; I felt his claws shred through my leather belt and the back of my jeans, catching skin in the process in bright stripes of pain.

I could have simply pleaded, asked him to stop, but I was beginning to worry that doing so might only urge him on. I've known men like that, who get off on hurting and humiliating women, who would see begging for mercy as something arousing. His earlier threat to hurt me and slowly kill me was a sign he was that kind of man.

"If you kill me, you won't be able to find anything else about the carbonadium," I said, finding it painful to speak as I tried to find a way to stop him or at least slow him down. "And future employers will be wondering if they can trust you to do the job." I could practically hear him thinking, the low growl he'd been emitting finally beginning to fade some.

Slowly, as if not trusting himself, he freed me. I fought not to cry out as his claws retracted and slid out of the wounds he'd made on my hip.

I sat up just as slowly, cradling my middle as I watched him warily, considering myself lucky. "It is the carbonadium," I explained softly, trying to keep my breathing shallow. "Some of those they tested had feral tendencies and found that they became... unstable, when exposed, especially the first time. It will get better."

Those striking amber eyes caught mine, made me fight off a shiver that wasn't entirely fear. His jaw clenched, nostrils flaring to take in more scent. If my suspicions were correct, he had enhanced senses and now knew exactly how I felt about him.

"Might wanna get the fuck outta here, and lock the door," he said, his voice deeper than before. He was paler, too, his body beginning to shake from exertion.

I didn't think twice. I grabbed my bag and went into the bedroom, shutting and locking the door behind me.

 

* * *

 

 

I wasn't sleeping so much as I had my eyes closed, trying to focus on nothing at all, to push aside the pain and the gnawing ache brought on by prolonged inhibition of my powers. I'd never gone so long without transitioning to my natural, incorporeal form and it got harder to remain sane with each passing day. There had been a few periods of punishment when I'd been confined to this limited existence, and even longer spaces of time where my captors had tested me, pushed me to my limits and then past them. Mostly it was to gain data but there had been times I thought they'd done it because they could.

But even in this seemingly-fragile body, I couldn't die, and that was its own misery. Even with everything I've endured, they'd not discovered a way to kill me, and that was part of why I'm so valuable to them; that, and my ability to keep their other subjects from finding the oblivion I sometimes wished for.

Even in my introspection I was aware of my surroundings. Night ticked by into day without any noise from the bathroom save a few groans. Apparently he'd passed out again, exhausted after exerting himself.

I shuddered, knowing how close I'd come to being raped. I don't have the same fears as human women, at least not inasmuch as being afraid of dying; I hate loss of control, though, and being forced against my will would have been a further small death. Being used by the one sent to bind me again, to bring me back to those who had already used me and would do so again... it was more than my mind could adequately process.

And again I questioned myself for not having left him to die or just killing him myself. Surely there had to be some other way to win free, one that didn't involve him, yet even after hours of contemplation I couldn't think of one.

What possible reason could he have to help me? I'd given him two but wasn't terribly sure I'd convinced him.

Quiet sounds came from the bathroom around mid-afternoon. I heard the shower turn on and remain on for a long while; evidently he needed it and I couldn't blame him. Sometimes standing under hot water was the only thing that could make me feel clean again.

By the time he emerged I was starting to come back to myself, to what had become my new 'normal'. I opened my eyes to find him crossing the room without a stitch of clothing on, heading for his duffel on the floor by the bed. I didn't try not to watch him, admiring the play of muscles beneath skin and a generous scattering of dark blond hair.

"Figured you'd be long gone," he said, pulling on a pair of black jeans. His only acknowledgment of my gaze was a smirk, and he seemed to be deliberate in his movements, emphasizing his body.

"I need you," I said honestly.

"Oh?" The smirk changed to a leering grin, his tongue prodding one of his fangs.

It was an effort not to roll my eyes. "I need your help to get this inhibitor off." I stood up from the room's only chair, stretching as much as I could.

"Hmm." Still amused, he pulled on a dark T-shirt. "Seems to me ya don't have much to bargain with, sweetheart. An' I don't do charity." He sat down on the edge of the bed. "'Less you wanna take it out in trade."

He obviously didn't remember what I'd told him before, and I was too tired to be angry with him. I knew he'd picked up on my physical reaction to him. Lying about it, even to myself, seemed pointless.

"Up 'til now there was not much you knew of in the world that could seriously hurt you, and really nothing that could so easily kill you." Only a flicker of unease in his eyes let me know I'd reminded him and hit the mark. "I can get you the carbonadium synthesizer, or at least get you close."

He cocked his head. "That's it? A piece of tech they likely have dozens of?"

"No, only one." I crossed my arms over my chest, cradling the ache of my broken ribs. "It was an accidental discovery, much like adamantium, and one they could not duplicate. They cannot even reverse engineer it without risking its destruction and their failure. Do you really want them to have such a powerful weapon to use against you?"

A long silence followed in which he put socks and boots on. Finally he looked back up at me, consideration on his face.

"You said other ferals have been tested on. Any like me, with claws?"

My eyebrows went up. "Two that I know of, both men. One had talons like yours, the other had bone claws that came from his hands. Why?"

Something like grief flickered through his eyes before they went blank. "Just wondering if I knew them." He shrugged his shoulders, joints popping in his neck and back. "I'll go along with you, for now. Best you're gonna get."

It was, so I nodded. "Let me get a shower and I will tell you what I know."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: very mild bloodplay (Victor likes to bite and scratch, after all).

While Rook was in the shower I went across the street to the pathetic excuse for a dive bar, looking for food. I was hungry enough I could eat a whole herd of cows but I'd have to settle for six rare burgers.

As I ate back in the motel room I tried to ignore the little voice in my head telling me just to make good on my contract and move on. It was the surest bet, the easiest thing I could do, but then I'd gone and asked her about other ferals who'd been tested on.

I knew both of them. The one like me had to be Kyle Gibney, Wild Child. We'd worked together in the past, got along fairly well. Not enough, though, for me to give much of a shit, he was just as much of an asshole as I am.

The other feral couldn't be anyone other than my baby brother. Even though he'd walked out of my life and I knew he hated me, the thought of anyone hurting him triggered some long lost protective streak. It'd been just him and me against the world for so long, he'd been all I had.

I had no clue where he was now, if he was even still breathing. Still, getting rid of a piece of tech that could hurt him and me both made me agree to help Rook.

Maybe it made me a hypocrite, that I didn't care if other mutants were being tortured and killed until my brother was one of them. I've never been accused of compassion towards my kind.

A sound of frustration and pain drew my attention to the closed bathroom door. I could hear Rook moving around, done with her shower and probably getting dressed. I ignored it until it happened again and my curiosity got the better of me.

I crossed the small space and knocked on the door. "Problem?"

She sighed and opened the door only enough for me to see her face, the rest of her hidden behind the barrier. "Would it be too much to ask for help wrapping my ribs? You did break them, after all."

I raised an eyebrow at her. "Can't do it behind a door." She glared at me, then opened the door further and turned her back to me. She was wearing only a pair of underwear, probably why she'd hesitated to ask for help, and she'd pulled her hair into a messy bun that left her bare from her neck to her waist.

All that pale, unblemished skin caused a visceral reaction in me. I wanted to leave marks all over her, with my claws and my teeth, and the fact that she could heal faster than normal just made the urge stronger.

Rook looked over her shoulder at me. "Problem?" she asked, echoing my earlier question.

I breathed in and caught her scent, found that like the night before she was aroused. Otherwise she hid it well but scent never lies. Normally that wouldn't happen with a woman I'd nearly raped not 24 hours before, though I didn't exactly have precedence to go on; other women were either long gone or dead after I was finished with them.

The longer I was silent the more she got agitated, nervousness beginning to trickle in, but her arousal got stronger, too. That was familiar, at least.

"Never mind, I can do it myself," she said, anger tinting her voice. She turned enough I could see where I'd hurt her shoulder, four puncture wounds along the curve, bright red against pale flesh. The sight made me painfully hard.

I stepped forward, my hand closing over the marks, and I felt her tense up, her hands rising to cover her breasts. She was tall for a woman, putting her ass at the right height for me to press my groin against her. It seemed involuntary when her hips pressed back.

"I didn't ask for help so you could fuck me," she said, her voice gone hoarse. "Let me go."

My grip tightened when she tried to pull away. I kept my hand on her injured shoulder and let the other rest on her belly, pressing closer. "Hard to take you seriously when I can smell how wet ya are. Been smelling it since last night." I let my claws dig in on her belly, making her deliberately push back against me to get away.

Finally I took that hand away and reached for the bandages on the counter. I heard her take a breath, wondering why I'd let her go.

"Gonna have to lift your arms some," I told her, running my fingers down one of them. "Trust me, frail, don't matter if I can see your tits or not."

"Why the fuck do you call me 'frail'?" she said, in her anger apparently forgetting as she turned and dropped her arms. "I think I have proven I am not weak."

I raised an eyebrow, grinning at her reaction. "It's just a word. Most women fit the bill." I held up the bandages.

Rook looked at me for a long moment and then lifted her arms again. Her eyes told me not to stare so I did anyway. She wasn't well-endowed, her breasts were small and high, pale as the rest of her. Like I said, her body reacted to me, and when I touched her right below her breasts I watched as her nipples went hard. My hand stayed there a moment to hold the cloth in place and then I deliberately brushed my fingers over her while I wrapped her torso.

She took a safety pin from the counter to secure the bandaging and then turned to grab a tanktop.

I stopped her, reaching out to hook the back of her neck with my hand.

"Don't," she said, though there was no fear in her, only anger.

"Why not?"

"Because I have to work with you."

"Not good enough." I cupped her breast with my other hand, engulfing the small orb and feeling the tip hard as a pebble against my palm. "You want it."

She was clenching her teeth, obviously trying to ignore her own reaction to me. "Want it, maybe, but I do not need it."

My fingers wrapped almost all the way around her neck and I squeezed, watched her eyes widen. "Then stop me."

I expected her to push me away, to tell me to get bent. I wanted her to fight.

Instead she grabbed two handfuls of my shirt and jerked me closer, tilting her head up to kiss me.

I took control of it immediately, backing her up against the counter. She dropped one hand to pull up my shirt and then dragged her nails down my back, not quite hard enough to draw blood but I growled against her mouth anyway, wishing she'd break skin. I could feel her pulse against my thumb on her neck, fast and fluttery.

Hauling her up onto the counter, I let her neck go only to give her a series of bites there, leaving a trail of bloody fang marks from just under her ear down to the curve of her shoulder by the marks from my claws. She whimpered with each one, encouraging me by digging her fingers in on my arms, her legs wrapping around my hips to bring me closer and let her grind herself against my cock.

It's true that I like raping women, but I get my rocks off just the same when they're willing, and I haven't met but one or two who get off on pain like I do. Rook didn't beg me to stop or cry about the wounds I inflicted; the only pained sounds she made were when I got too rough with her torso. And she gave as good as she got, bloodying my lower lip, scratching my arms and then my chest when she got my shirt off. There are other ferals who hate letting anyone hurt them, even during sex, but I crave it. Ain't like I can't take it.

As she was undoing my jeans I cut her underwear off, her scent suddenly stronger, almost overwhelming with no barrier. I reached down and touched her, let my claws out just a bit and felt her shudder, her hand wrapping around my cock and squeezing in response. I pulled my claws all the way in and then slipped two fingers inside of her, stretching and stroking her until she begged for more. With three I had her coming and I shoved inside of her while she was still spasming.

Her nails left gouges down my shoulder blades, over and over. I could see her entire back in the mirror and watched myself leave shallow cuts there while I fucked her. My other hand was on her hip holding her in place, my claws embedded there. She was so tight around my cock and she got tighter the closer she got to coming again, strong enough that I came with a growl, hips jerking as I emptied into her.

The sound of her shallow breathing brought me back and when I opened my eyes I saw pain in the furrow of her brow. All over her body was the evidence of our coupling, cuts and bruises and trickles of pale blood. I leaned into her and licked at her neck, the normal copper tang tinted with something foreign I couldn't identify.

Rook let me clean her, her hands on my shoulders and then my waist to steady herself when I set her on her feet. “Should have waited to take a shower,” she said, mildly amused. “And now you've destroyed all my underwear.”

I shrugged. “You want an apology?” I asked, grabbing my shirt off the floor.

“As if you would give one even if I was mad about it. I can go without.”

“One less thing to take off, anyway.” I let her go and watched her get dressed, saw the inherent gracefulness she moved with even with broken ribs.

She chose black cargo pants and pulled on a dark green hoodie over her tanktop, then moved past me back into the room, sitting on the bed to put on socks and boots. “There are a few places the synthesizer could be,” she began, “but I think we can narrow it down.” She reached back into her bag and pulled out a scrap of fabric with a patch sewn on it. “I took this off the one you killed.”

The patch was in the shape of a stylized bird, probably an eagle, bisected with red on top and blue below. Usually that symbol had the letters FOH across it in bold white, but they were absent here, and the colors were muted, like they were meant to blend in rather than stand out.

“Friends of Humanity?” My lip curled back. “What the fuck do they want?”

“You are a mutant and they are anti-mutant. Doesn't take Poirot to figure that out.”

“They coulda been after _you_ , y'know.”

She shook her head. “I am not a mutant. Not every powered individual is, and anyway, I can blend.” She gestured at me. “You cannot, at least not without difficulty.”

That was true. I'm big, which stands out enough, but I can't hide the rest unless I keep my mouth shut and don't show my hands. Shitty way to live. “How'd they find me, then?”

Rook shrugged. “Hell if I know. Are you well-known to their kind?”

I smirked. “You could say that. I'm just the kind of asshole they hate, the whole point of why they exist. But what's that got to do with the synthesizer?”

“That is where it gets a bit twisted. The only people who know about it are those who have used it and those who have been subjected to it. Not long before I escaped I saw this symbol worn by some people in the complex where I was stationed, talking to some of the higher-ups. It meant nothing to me at the time but now I am thinking that it cannot be a coincidence.”

It was a long shot. “So, what? The FOH borrows the synthesizer so they can take me down?”

She shrugged again. “I said it was twisted. The fact that you were contracted to find me in the first place does not make sense, either – they like to keep things in house, fewer questions asked. And carbonadium only affects mutants with healing factors, it is otherwise inert. There is no other use for it.”

“The loose end is the FOH, then. I don't buy them gunning for me just because I'm a mutant.”

“Well.” She spread her hands in a conciliatory gesture. “There is a facility in the next province. I can get us in and, if you help me get the inhibitor off, I can find out why you are a target.” She lifted her eyes to mine and I saw the challenge there. “Unless of course you are not curious.”

I growled at her but she just smirked.

 

* * *

 

 

 Even with food and sleep I still wasn't up to full strength, and somehow Rook knew it. She still had my keys and just rolled her eyes when I tried to get them back, telling me I should rest by sleeping in the truck.

My body betrayed me. I was asleep in minutes.

I woke up to the sound of tires on asphalt, the radio on low and Rook's soft voice singing along with Pink Floyd. I stretched as much as I could in the small confines of the cab.

She jerked a thumb at a paper bag sitting between us. “Burgers again. Sorry. I stopped for them a couple hours back.”

“You don't eat?” I asked, digging in. I hate fast food but beggars can't be choosers. “Or sleep?”

“Don't need to. Lucky for you.” She switched the radio off. “Listen, I will not going to be much help if we run into trouble.”

I snorted. “Seems you did fine before.”

“I am being serious. The longer I go with this thing on, the more I have to try to survive, the weaker I am getting.” She was angry and her scent told me she hated admitting this. I couldn't blame her. “I used a lot of energy in getting out and then trying to evade you. It will not kill me but it slows me down.”

“We'll be fine.” I wasn't really trying to reassure her, and it wasn't false bravado on my part. I just don't see the point in worrying. “If it works, it works. If not, I'll take as many of the fuckers down with me as I can.”

“Heh.” She smiled, shook her head slightly in amusement.

“What?”

“You just remind me of a man I used to know. Terribly pragmatic with a bit of a temper. Same penchant for outdated facial hair.”

When she'd mentioned him before, I'd assumed she only knew of him in passing. Now, I sat up straight and tried not to stare at her, tried not to act like I was too interested.

“Did he call himself Logan?”

The truck jerked and she swore. After a few moments she pulled over to the shoulder and put the truck in park. “You knew him?” she asked, looking at me. There was something in her eyes I couldn't read.

“A long time ago, yeah.” I felt like being vague and her stare was making me wary. “We were in the military together.”

Her fingers flexed on the steering wheel. “You must be Victor. He mentioned you.” Her voice went soft and she looked away. Her scent was all over the place, angry and sad, affectionate and thoughtful. “When the pain from the testing was very bad he talked about his big brother, about how Victor took care of him and kept him alive.” She looked up with a faint smile. “You are not what I expected.”

Well, so much for vague. I went from wary to uncomfortable, thinking about my brother always did this to me. He came the closest to ever making me feel anything like affectionate, to  _love_ , something I'd never felt with anyone else.

It bugged the hell out of me that anyone knew about it, it felt like I'd revealed a weakness. I hated the way she was looking at me, like she was trying to reconcile all the information she had, trying to figure out if I was worth it.

“He's why you agreed to help me,” she said suddenly, like it had just occurred to her.

I moved in a blur of motion, one hand around her neck as I pushed her against the door. “Don't matter why, frail. Just remember I can renege any time I feel like it.”

The words were hollow, I knew it and I could tell she knew it, too. I felt like I'd lost something, some kind of edge in letting her know just how invested I was in helping her. Something in her eyes told me she wouldn't use it against me. Somehow that bothered me more than her knowing in the first place.

Rook didn't say anything when I let her go, she just put the truck back in gear. She pulled back onto the road and switched the radio on again.

I fell asleep again to Bad Company.


	4. Chapter 4

That he was Victor, Logan's older brother, wasn't much of a surprise to me. There was a way of moving, a tilt of the head, a frown between the eyes that they shared. Certainly they were both feral but Victor was more feline to Logan's wolfish nature.

Their sexual inclinations were just as similar and disparate. Both had a tendency to roughness but where Logan had a sort of underlying tenderness, Victor seemed more selfish and single-minded. Yet he'd made me come before...

I snapped myself out of that line of thought, though chances were he'd already picked up on it judging by his soft chuckle. I ignored him, focusing instead on my battered copy of _Watership Down_ now that he'd taken over driving. Or at least I was trying to focus.

I've never been a sexual creature. I enjoy it but the nature of my powers and the fact that I've spent so much time controlled by others means I don't get the chance to indulge it. Now I realized that Victor managed to stir the same something in me that Logan had been able to; both were so vital, so full of life and energy that I felt drawn to them. I was like a vampire craving their very essence, the sharp contrast to my own cold existence.

I'm not dead, but I'm not alive, not in any easily recognized way. It's my ability to walk the line between and bring others across that makes me so valuable to those who seek to control me. Left to my own devices I actually help souls cross over. Of course, that's not very useful to those who want to keep their experiments alive.

I'm very human in some ways. I feel both emotions and physical sensations, I breathe and I bleed. But as I'd told Victor, I don't need to sleep or eat. And I don't die.

Maybe that's why I like pain. It means I'm alive. Logan had been the same way and, again, apparently Victor also was.

“Is there porn in that book I missed the half-dozen times I've read it?”

I looked over at him, trying not to appear flustered. I knew I'd failed because he was smirking. "There _are_ rabbits in the book."

That got a chuckle from him. "What's the plan when we get there?"

I closed the book. "A bit of a hike, for starters. We can't exactly drive in like we belong there." Turning my body slightly to look at him, I leaned up against the window. "I considered pretending you were returning me but there would be no conceivable way you would know of this post so that is out."

"How far?"

"Just a couple miles, it's out in the middle of BFE. I have enough power left I can fool the locks on the back entrance and I know the way to where we need to go. We get my inhibitor off and then I will look up what we want to know."

He was silent for a few beats, long fingers tapping on the steering wheel in time to ZZ Top. "Once you're free what's to keep you from skipping out? I came after you on a contract, you got no reason to help me."

There was truth in his words and I'd be lying if I said I hadn't considered doing just what he'd said. It would be simple to literally disappear once the inhibitor was removed.

"Even on you I can smell a lie."

Well, then. "I do not want the synthesizer available any more than you do. I have seen it destroy too many lives, your brother was nearly one of them and I am not entirely sure he got off lucky as it is. The FOH does not need another weapon in their arsenal." He didn't need to know that I already felt the tiniest bit bound to him; Logan had been quite candid when he'd spoken of his brother, enough that it was like having known Victor myself in some respects. And knowing what I did of his temperament, telling him so would likely just piss him off and make him change his mind about helping me. He was a fickle cat.

"He's still alive, you know." He said it so quietly that I wasn't sure I'd heard him. He kept his gaze forward, on the road ahead. "I ran into him a few years ago. Didn't remember me." There was something, an undercurrent of loss, in his voice. I didn't think he even realized it.

"Carbonadium can cause memory loss," I offered. "I think he was also involved in some kind of programming where they wiped his mind after missions."

Victor shrugged. "We got much farther to drive?" he asked, changing topics.

I let him. "Two hours, give or take. I'll let you know where to stop."

 

* * *

 

 Snow covered the ground and I could smell the promise of more on the air, not quite the ozone of rain but similar, a clean scent. I'd spent the last couple of hours in a sort of meditative state, focusing and gathering what little power I had left. It would be just enough, as I'd told Victor, to get us inside.

The facility was basically just an outpost, set up for training agents and occasional testing. I'd spent enough time here that I knew the layout, knew what kind of security force would be in place. The trickiest part was getting inside and getting my inhibitor off. After that, I could mask our presence while I accessed the server for info on the synthesizer we wanted.

The snow helped muffle our approach towards the back entrance. I placed my hand about an inch away from the palm reader, which showed a small red light, and I closed my eyes as I pushed just so with the energy I generated. The sensor beeped, clicked, beeped again and then the little red light went green.

"Straight ahead," I directed quietly, opening the door. No one was guarding it and they were paranoid about surveillance in case footage of what they were up to got leaked, so we had no cameras to contend with. I shut the door again and gestured for him to follow.

We made it a few hallways in before he grabbed me and pulled me back around the corner, holding me there. I heard two voices, both male, pass by before Victor let me go and nodded.

"Thanks," I whispered as I moved on again.

There were a couple more quick stops like that, both times he heard them and hid us. I still half-expected him to go back on our deal; I guess I was just as skeptical as he was.

But finally we reached our first destination: a small room with a bank of computers and supply closets along one wall. From inside one I retrieved two small, slim black wands, showing them to Victor. "You know how to use these?" I asked. "I cannot do it one-handed."

He took them, pulling my wrist close so he could work. "Yeah, done this a few times." One wand attached to one side of the bracelet; the other one pressed against the opposite side and, together, they generated a frequency that shut off the inhibitor. I unclasped it and flung it as if it had literally burned me.

"Move back," I warned him. "I don't want to hurt you."

He quirked an eyebrow but did as I asked, retreating to lean his butt against the computer bank.

Having full control over my power was like being able to relax a cramped muscle and, like releasing a cramp can be painful, it hurt more for a few moments. I felt my physical body lose cohesion, the room around me thrown into stark blacks and whites and greys, cold except for the warmth of my companion. He was yellows and oranges, shifting to red at his core.

I heard him inhale, saying "Holy shit," on the exhale. It made me laugh.

I knew what he was reacting to and somehow understood that he wasn't the type given to overreaction.

If you've ever seen a real ghost, or the pictures in those godforsaken _Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark_ books, then you've got a good idea what I really look like. The shape of my body becomes hazy and transparent, my hair goes dead white and my eyes are just ragged black holes. I'm terrifying, really, but that's why I have a physical, corporeal form. No one wants to see me coming to take them into death.

With my transition, all of the injuries and fatigue I'd sustained suddenly disappeared. All the aches and pains were gone. For the first time in longer than I cared to remember I felt whole again and I very nearly wept.

"I've seen you before." Victor's voice, the tone somewhere between unnerved and curious, pulled me back.

I coalesced, stepping back onto the earthly plane with a small amount of regret. "If you did, I don't recall. It may have been another of my kind."

"Your 'kind'?"'

I nodded, reaching up to smooth my hair back. "Reapers, Valkyries, psychopomps. Pick your favorite term. You have been closer to death more often than most ever get without crossing the veil." I took a deep breath and let it out, then concentrated on extending my ability to mask our presence.

Victor shivered. Cats were known for being particularly sensitive to my kind. "The fuck was that?"

"Me hiding us. Let's go." Without waiting for a reply I strode out of the room, deeper into the complex. Almost immediately we came upon a human male and I heard Victor inhale sharply. "He cannot see us," I assured him.

"That's creepy as hell."

The man may not have been able to see us but he did shudder at the cool touch of my presence as we passed him by. "Some are more sensitive than others, but the only way to get past my veil is with magic. Nulls tend to find that sort of thing ridiculous and superstitious."

“More ridiculous than mutants?”

I shrugged. “'There are more things in heaven and earth',” I replied. “Humans do not want to believe that they are not the biggest, baddest things prowling the world. They sleep better at night in their ignorance.”

“Ain't that the fuckin' truth.”

I glanced back as we passed another guard to find Victor waving his hand in front of the man's face. It shocked a laugh out of me which in turn startled the feral mutant. He turned amber eyes to me, one brow quirked.

“What?”

“Curiosity problems?”

That got a snarl and he stalked away from the human.

“Lucky for me,” I said, gesturing at another doorway, “we are here.” The room was similar to the other one we'd gone to but with more advanced computers, higher security because they connected to the secure server. “Park your very nice ass while I break through the firewall.”

I heard him huff in amusement and then he started pacing. “What happens if you can't find anything?”

I parked my own ass in front of one terminal and went to work, fingers flying over the keyboard. I'd had to pull back some on my power or I'd fry the tech. “Trust me, there's no way it is not there. They may be paranoid dicks, but they are paranoid dicks with a paperwork fetish. I might not be able to figure out why the FOH is after you but that is not my highest priority at the moment.”

“I'm hurt.” I could hear the smirk in his voice but he let me work, which I did with the tip of my tongue caught between my teeth.

There were firewalls aplenty, redundancies and blind corners and encryptions that would keep even the most dedicated hacker at bay. Unfortunately for them, the idiots had trained me for this kind of infiltration and done it on their own system. I knew most of the weak points and could work my way past the rest, it just took time.

“Might wanna work faster,” Victor said suddenly, his voice pitched low. “We're gonna have company in a minute.”

“Shit.” I reached for a nearby drawer and opened it, hoping for luck and getting it in the form of a flash drive. I stuck the drive into a port and copied the pertinent info, having to consciously stop myself from jogging my leg in impatience, as if doing so would make the damn machine go faster. I was pretty sure there was some kind of universal law that dictated the opposite would happen; that or some capricious god.

“Come on,” I muttered, watching the stupid little file folders fly across the screen, the percentage bar creeping closer to finished. Luck must have still been with us because the files finished copying; I yanked the drive out, shoving it in my pocket as I thumbed the monitor off.

“Give me your hand,” I said, already reaching for him. “And don't freak out on me.” I could hear voices coming closer, recognized one of them and knew that I didn't want to be caught by its owner.

“What--”

I didn't give Victor time to finish his sentence. I could have turned us both invisible but there were ways of seeing past that. Instead, I moved us. All the way back to his truck.

Victor tore his hand away from mine, dropping to his knees and retching. I caught myself against the side of the truck and tried to remember how to exist in this body.

What I did wasn't quite teleportation, insofar as I understand that ability and how it operates. It's almost a form of astral projection, I suppose, but it doesn't hurt me at all to go from one point to another.

Victor was losing his lunch because he only had a corporeal form. It was also the reason I felt like I'd just drained my entire reserve of strength and energy, I wasn't used to dragging someone else along.

“ _Son_ of a _bitch_ ,” he exclaimed, sitting down hard on his ass. “What the fuck did you just do?”

“I got us out of there the only way I could,” I said. “I am sorry, if I'd had time to warn you, I would have. One of the men coming our way, I recognized his voice, and it would not have been good if he had caught us.” I straightened, finally, ignoring the ache in my head. “As it was, he may find out I was there anyway.”

He coughed, clearing his throat. “How the hell would he do that?”

I looked away, off into the trees in the direction of the complex, my vision blurring as I tried to see with a different kind of sight. We were safe, for now. “He and I... we have a history. We have worked together but he has never trusted me, for good reason, so he has figured out ways to tell when I have been around.”

My hair blew back from my face and I breathed deep, letting the cold wind settle me. “We need to go. They are not actively searching, but if I know him at all he is going to suspect, and we need to be away from here.”

Victor didn't answer. He just got to his feet with most of his usual grace intact and went for the driver's side. I could have argued with him, pushed the issue of him being disoriented from my power, but it would have been more trouble than it was worth.

“I've got a laptop,” he said when I'd buckled in. “Any idea where to go?”

“Not back to where we were. Would be too easy for the FOH to find us if they were trying.” I drummed my fingers against my leg a moment. “There is a truckstop an hour from here, and a motel. Head east.”


End file.
